I have loved the stars too fondly
by celestialscribe
Summary: Wolfstar. Remus has loved the stars too fondly, one star in particular, to ever fear the night and the full moon which taunts him from above. The pull of the moon is forever undermined by the pull of Sirius Black.


_I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night._

Galileo.

Not Wilde or Poe, Blake or Bowie. Galileo. Remus was an avid reader, but nowhere in the whole of literature had he come across something more fitting than this. And yet, Galileo hadn't been a werewolf. Galileo hadn't fallen for the most beautiful star in the otherwise ominous night sky. Galileo was an astronomer, a philosopher, whereas Remus was neither and yet that was as close as it got.

Ever since Remus' eyes had first traced these words on the page, they never once failed to bring a smile to his lips. When the realisation of this had first struck him, he was taken aback. It shocked him _still_, for there had once been a time when Remus shied away from the light of the moon. No matter what form it took, that pristine orb forever reminded him that he was but its slave. Once it reached its apex, he would transform into the grizzly werewolf, the _beast_. Hunger, rage and a desire to close his jaws around something's throat overcame human nature _almost_completely. Remus was forever a threat to himself _and _others. The only reassurance, the only indication that he was more than a werewolf even on these most treacherous of nights, was that his friends still mattered. _That_, at least, was not lost. The werewolf would willingly tear at its own flesh, consumed with the anguish and self-loathing of the boy beneath. However it _recognised_ friendship in the stag, the dog and the rat.

Of course it was the dog who it took a _particular_ liking to. Sirius had suggested it was merely canine instinct and Remus supposed there was_ some_ truth to that. Even so, it was troubling. He and Moony had something in common. Whereas the werewolf may leave the dog bruised and worse for wear, it was surprisingly playful considering the everyday persona of Remus Lupin, painfully calm and reserved, more likely to have his head buried in a book than chasing birds or on a broom. Worse blows, potentially even lethal, had yet to be dealt. Remus had sworn it was only a matter of time, but to this day he'd been proven wrong. Sirius had insisted on enduring the full moon alongside him, stomaching the unseemly sight and anguished cries of the transformation even though in reality it tore him apart to witness Remus in such pain, solely to offer some small comfort to the boy. And he'd survived.

The moon wasn't half as strong as Remus had _thought_ it was.

There was a time when Remus associated night solely with the full moon. Too often he'd snuck through the castle under the veil of darkness that night offered, the dull ache in his bones that acted as a precursor to the transformation. With each step, he found his anxiety about the hours ahead increase. Remus hated what he was, he hated that the curse had been dealt him so unjustly. He hated and cursed the night and the full moon that taunted him from a safe distance above as he crossed the deserted grounds.

Remus associated night with pain, an unbelievable dissatisfaction with his condition that was so fierce that loathing was the _only_ word that did it any justice, and a longing to be someone different. Anyone. Someone who didn't have to tell lies or bear secrets, who could simply laugh and dream like the rest of them. Remus was ambitious, he knew what he wanted. But did he seize it? Most certainly not. He had the curse to thank for that.

Only he didn't have to regardless. Sirius had done it _for_ him. And if lycanthropy was a disease, then Sirius was the antidote.

Sirius could not undo the pain, not for want of trying, but he alleviated the rest of it. Remus didn't have to lie to Sirius. Not about anything, and especially not now that he had discovered his feelings were not quite as unrequited as he'd originally feared. Far from it. Besides, Sirius knew him far too well so that any attempt at harbouring a secret was merely in vain.

Sirius had taught him that there was more to nightfall than the full moon. There were stars, endless clusters of stars which scattered the night skies. "It's my army," Sirius had once joked upon a night in their seventh year when they'd sought solitude atop the Astronomy Tower. "They're going to tear that moon down, Moony. Then you won't ever have to transform again." Remus had rolled his eyes at the time, but he suspected that the rush of affection he'd _felt_ had not gone entirely unnoticed. Sirius had proceeded to flash that wide grin, a knowing expression but surprisingly less smug than usual. Perhaps because he knew he had said the impossible.

Sirius had loved him with the force of all the stars. When the night didn't claim Remus, Sirius did. He'd snuck into his bed just as he'd snuck into his existence, crept into his mind and his heart where he assumed permanence. Sometimes he'd merely rest his head beside Remus' and whisper a quick goodnight as his eyes fell shut. Sometimes he'd talk. His words grew more slurred as sleep slowly overcame his desire to stay awake, also more honest. Sirius would trace the scars on Remus' skin as he spoke and somehow, even before lips had first collided so as to finalise their affections, it had ceased to strike Remus as odd. Under the cover of darkness, with no one but the stars as their witness, it was as natural as breathing. And then there were times when Sirius loved him too much, compelling Remus to withdraw from the safety of whispers and show Sirius just how far he'd crept under his skin.

Remus no longer feared the night. Only one night of each month was Remus delivered to the moon. But every night thereafter, he was Sirius' alone. He had loved the stars, one star in particular, too fondly to ever fear the darkest hours of the day. As great as the pull of the moon might be, the love he bore for Sirius was infinitely more powerful. Yet only under the veil of darkness that night provided could he capture those lips, so commonly tugged into a haughty smirk, with his own. Only under night's cloak could he love every inch of Sirius, planting hungry kisses on pristine skin so vastly different from his own. Remus' vehement affection for the boy, painfully irrevocable and wholly impossible to suppress, transformed into a tangle of limbs as one boy sought the burning caresses of the other. There were no bitter exclamations of the tortured soul in pain, only tender words of devotion which left Remus more vulnerable than any full moon possessed the power to do. The moon may stand against him, but the stars were on his side. In the war between the moon and the stars, the stars were _forever_ victorious.


End file.
